Winter Clarity
by purplehairedwonder
Summary: It had been two weeks since Sebastian had been captured and he had no illusions about his fate; he was sure he was going to die in this hellhole of a prison, so surprise rescue was the last thing he expected. Spy!AU. Second in the Assassin 'verse.


**Author's Note:** This is a follow up to "Assassin" and the second in what is now the _Assassin_ 'verse. Much of this 'verse is inspired by characters and events from the USA show _Covert Affairs_, though it's not necessary to have seen the show to understand the 'verse. The title comes from the Mumford & Sons song "Thistle & Weeds."

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

**Winter Clarity**

* * *

Sebastian screwed his eyes shut and curled more tightly into himself as he tried to ignore the cacophony—a steady screech that set the hairs on the back of his neck standing—blaring over the prison's outdated speaker system.

He'd tried covering his ears at first, but it hadn't helped, and the mattress on his bed had been taken when he tried to use it to block out the sound. So now he sat on dirt-covered floor, head throbbing, with his back against one wall of his cell, legs pulled up to his chest and forehead resting on his knees while his body trembled from exhaustion.

It had been two weeks since Sebastian had been captured by Russian operatives in St. Petersburg while trying to trace the source of the leak in both MI6 and the CIA. Sebastian wasn't careless in the field and the mission had been off-book and eyes-only, so the only logical conclusion was that the mole had uncovered the details of his op and passed it on.

The intel Sebastian had been on the verge of bringing back to MI6 was extremely sensitive—Britain and the U.S. would not be the only countries wanting to take action against Russia if he'd succeeded. Of course, that was why his interrogators were so determined to find out exactly what he'd learned before his capture, not to mention the highly classified knowledge he had of numerous other MI6 missions.

Sebastian knew he was screwed; with a mission like this, MI6 would have no option but to disavow any knowledge of his existence once it became apparent he'd been compromised. Hazards of the spy game. He knew what he'd signed up for.

In the time Sebastian had spent in the Russian prison, he'd snatched just enough sleep to keep going on the bare mattress frame, falling asleep only when exhaustion drowned out the deafening noise over the intercom only to be awoken by a jailor after torturously short periods. There had also been just enough food—if the gruel they served could be called that—and water to keep him alive and a small bucket to piss in in the corner. And the daily interrogations had seen him cuffed to a table in a dimly lit room where he stared at his interrogator who asked questions that Sebastian was never going to answer.

Sebastian might be a lot of things, but he wasn't a traitor.

Sebastian had also ended up with a lot of time to think while stuck in this hellhole; there wasn't much else to do. He thought about his handler, Trent, who he'd been on the phone with when he'd been compromised. Trent was too kind for this line of work—he'd never been a strong field agent because he couldn't harden his heart the way the best operatives could—but he was a damn good handler; he culled friendships with people who helped Sebastian when he was in the field and kept up with the best of the tech division with his computer knowledge. Sebastian, late one night, found himself wondering how long Trent would need before taking on another operative after Sebastian died.

Because he was going to die in this prison. He had no illusions about his fate.

Sebastian thought too about his parents when he was at his most exhausted. They had no idea that their son had a life beyond his cover as an employee at a well-regarded British financial firm—actually a shell company created by MI6 for the purpose of assigning covers. As far as the Smythes, who were settled in upstate New York, were concerned, their son traveled frequently because of his company's international clientele.

He wondered what MI6 would tell his parents—would they be told he was killed in a car crash or would his secret be revealed post-mortem? He thought his father, a veteran, would appreciate learning Sebastian had been a spy—though maybe not for another country, patriotic as he was—since he'd always pressed him to make something of himself.

Sebastian didn't have many friends outside of MI6; there were a few buddies from his college lacrosse team he exchanged emails with a few times a year, but otherwise... He kept his distance from others on purpose, having seen firsthand the risks an operative ran by keeping people close. It was easier to get lost in the mission when there was no one to worry about back home. It also made him harder to find leverage against in situations such as, well, the one he was in now.

Sebastian's head snapped up at the crack of a gunshot and yelling. Was he hallucinating? It wouldn't be the first time. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and hurried over to the small, dirty window on his cell door. There was some kind of fog on the air, obscuring what was going on. He jerked back from the door when something clattered through the small opening used for meals.

He blinked before registering it as a gas mask. He knelt down and picked it up just as his door opened and a figure in Russian military fatigues and a gas mask stepped in.

Sebastian stared blankly until the figure gestured hurriedly for Sebastian to follow him. Sebastian snapped back into himself, the adrenaline of an active mission hitting his system and clearing the haze of exhaustion, at least temporarily. He pulled the mask on and nodded at his masked companion, who headed back into the hallway. There were felled soldiers lining the hall. Sebastian raised an eyebrow, impressed.

They moved down the hallway until Sebastian's rescuer paused and held up his arm. Sebastian frowned at the interruption and glanced down to see his interrogator lying face down on the floor; he couldn't help the wave of satisfaction that washed over him at the sight. The man wasn't dead, but the feeling of power that came from standing over him, completely vulnerable, was enough for Sebastian.

He jolted at the sound of a fight and looked up to see his masked rescuer punch a Russian guard once in the face, twice in the stomach to drop him to a knee, then strike a blow with his elbow to the back of the guard's head, knocking him out. The moves seemed familiar, but his companion was ushering him through an opening in the wall before Sebastian could think on it more.

Shuffling through the tight piping behind the prison wall, Sebastian headed for a rusted ladder drilled into the wall a few meters away. It must've been there for workers to get to the plumbing and wiring. The other man touched his shoulder and nodded up, so Sebastian grabbed the rungs with shaky hands and climbed.

A rung about ten steps up creaked and groaned under Sebastian's feet before breaking off completely and clattering loudly to the floor below. Sebastian cursed in surprise and managed to grip the sides of ladder tightly until the ladder stilled. He looked down to see his companion glancing down at the ground before shaking his head and nodding at Sebastian to start climbing again. Trying to calm his erratic breathing and pounding heart, Sebastian shut his eyes for a moment and took a breath before pulling himself up over the missing rung.

Sebastian opened a small grate after they'd climbed about two stories above the prison and pulled himself through it and onto the street, where he nearly collapsed. He stumbled a few steps and pulled his gas mask off, sucking in fresh air for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He took several deep breaths before turning to see his rescuer coming through the grate and closing it behind him.

Sebastian tensed as the man took off his mask—the sudden idea of his rescuer being a foreign operative who was equally interested in the intel Sebastian had crossing his mind—but then his knees nearly gave out in relief. It seemed too good to be true.

"Hey," Blaine greeted with a hesitant smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Of course it was Blaine. He knew those moves that had knocked out the guard because he'd seen Blaine in action countless times.

"Unless you have somewhere better to be…?" Blaine added, raising an eyebrow.

Sebastian shook his head mutely and grabbed Blaine's hand pulling him forward into Sebastian's space. Before Blaine could react, Sebastian let go of Blaine's hand, cupped his cheeks, and kissed him with all he had. When they pulled apart, Blaine blinked a few times before his lips twitched upward.

"Come on," he said, gently pulling Sebastian's hands from his face. "There's a safe house and extraction awaiting us."

* * *

"How did you find me?" Sebastian asked as he toweled off his hair. He'd grabbed a shower once they'd gotten to the safe house. Once he got some food and sleep, Sebastian thought he might actually start feeling human again, which was a novel concept after so long in captivity.

Blaine looked up from the computer he'd been working at. He eyed Sebastian up and down for a moment before sitting back in his chair and resting his hands in his lap.

"Trent called."

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

Blaine nodded. "He said MI6 had tried to come up with a number of extraction plans, but none were feasible for a team op. And the politics were keeping them from going through any other channels to get you out. So he called me and proposed a one-man operation."

"And you agreed?"

"And I agreed," Blaine confirmed.

Sebastian watched Blaine, who had changed into less conspicuous clothes while Sebastian was in the shower, wondering what could have spurred him to agree to such an insane proposition. He would be facing a hell of a lot of blowback from the CIA for acting on his own and in the name of a rival intelligence agency. Yet Blaine looked at ease, leaning back in his chair with a neutral expression on his face. And Sebastian couldn't ignore the tug he felt toward the other man; it was something he'd felt the first time they'd crossed paths in Rio and it had only gotten stronger each time they met.

He hadn't let himself think about Blaine while he was in that prison. There was no reason to, he told himself—they were simply fellow spies who had undeniable chemistry in and out of the field. And yet…

The last time they'd met, when Blaine had been sent to kill him, there had been a moment.

"The spy who loved me," Blaine had murmured as Sebastian kissed him, and Sebastian had frozen. It was just a Bond reference, part of their running joke. It _couldn't_ be anything else.

But after Blaine had fallen asleep, Sebastian had slipped out of bed and sat in a chair, watching the other man breathe evenly. A few curls had broken free of the gel Blaine plastered his hair down with, and that somehow made him look younger, more innocent than the deadly spy Sebastian knew him to be. Sebastian studied the criminally long lashes that fanned out across Blaine's cheeks and traced Blaine's skin, illuminated by a pale streak of moonlight coming in through partially shut curtains, with his eyes; his gaze lingered on the marks he'd left possessively on the other man's body.

And, stomach twisting, he plotted an escape that would allow him to finish his mission without burning the bridge between them. He'd never forget the feeling of having Blaine's gun trained on him, and he never wanted to repeat the experience. Sebastian had too few people he considered true allies to risk losing one over a misunderstanding.

Sebastian shook himself and looked up to see Blaine watching him expectantly, and Sebastian cursed himself silently as he realized Blaine had spoken and was waiting for an answer.

"Sorry, what?"

Blaine gave him a concerned look before rising from his chair. "There's a port about ten kilometers outside of the city. Trent called in a favor with a ship's captain to take us out of Russia. We'll rendezvous with MI6 assets in Helsinki and fly home from there."

It seemed like a good plan, if they could get out of the city undetected. "Okay."

"Okay? You're not going to argue?" The question was teasing, but Sebastian could hear the worry behind the words. He must still look like hell if Blaine sounded like that.

"I trust Trent," he replied simply. And that much was true.

Blaine pursued his lips for a moment but finally nodded. "All right. The ship's departing at seven, so we should get going." He nodded toward a table with a couple of packets laid out. "Our go-packs, courtesy of a cobbler I know in town."

Sebastian nodded. He scrubbed his towel over his hair once more then dropped it onto an empty chair. He grabbed his packet and took a messenger bag that Blaine offered; Blaine had pulled a matching one over his shoulder already.

Blaine turned toward the door once Sebastian had put his packet in his bag, but Sebastian grabbed Blaine's wrist.

Blaine stopped and turned around, a curious look on his face. "What is it?"

Sebastian's gaze drop unwittingly to Blaine's lips before he swallowed and looked back up at Blaine's eyes; he was suddenly unsure of why he'd grabbed the other man. "I—"He shook his head. "Never mind. Let's go."

Blaine's expression softened as Sebastian let go of him, and Sebastian tried not to read too much into that. He didn't want or need pity, least of all from Blaine Anderson.

Blaine just nodded and headed out the door, leaving Sebastian to follow him.

* * *

"What are you getting out of this?" Sebastian asked once they were in open water on the way to Finland. He and Blaine had curled up in a sheltered niche on the deck of the ship and wrapped themselves in blankets to combat the cold.

Sebastian was fighting the urge to fall asleep now that the adrenaline of flight had worn off, but he knew that once he fell asleep, he would be out for hours and there were still some questions he wanted answers to.

Blaine glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?"

"Nobody in our line of work does anything for free."

Blaine huffed. "You're so cynical."

"I'm realistic," Sebastian countered. "And you didn't answer my question."

Blaine was quiet for a moment before shrugging. "Trent caught me at a good time, that's all. I was going to be in the area anyway. I'm not 'getting anything out of it,'" he said.

Sebastian could _hear_ the exaggerated air quotes so rolled his eyes, but he didn't press the issue.

"Trent was really worried about you," Blaine said after a stretch of silence, his eyes never leaving the water. "No matter how hard you might try to keep people at a distance, Bas, you still have people who care about you." His lips twitched wryly. "And despite what you may think, that's not a weakness."

"Connections to other people get you both into trouble."

"Or, sometimes, out of it," Blaine replied, nudging Sebastian with his shoulder. Then he pushed himself to his feet and looked down at Sebastian, who felt anchored to the spot by the weight of the last two weeks.

"So this wasn't to make up for trying to kill me?" Sebastian retorted, raising an eyebrow wearily.

A strained look crossed Blaine's face quickly—and Sebastian tried to ignore the satisfaction he felt from catching the other man off-guard—before he schooled his expression. "If I'd _really_ wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Sebastian's lips twitched as he stifled a yawn. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second.

"Get some sleep, Bas," Blaine said quietly before walking away.

After a few moments, Sebastian heard hushed voices as Blaine spoke with the captain. He let the rocking of the waves lull him into a long-awaited sleep, Blaine's soft words echoing in his ears.

_fin_


End file.
